


let me lead

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Dysphoria, Domestic, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gender Dysphoria, Light Angst, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Strap-Ons, Trans Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22944439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: "I'm telling you about the statue so you get just how masculineyouare. Eds, a building-sized statue of a lumberjack with the biggest shoulders I haveeverseen was my sexual awakening, and I marriedyou.""Don't call Paul Bunyan your sexual awakening," Eddie scolds lightly. Richie kisses behind his ear, nosing into his hair until he gets far enough to kiss Eddie's temple."I could always attribute my sexual awakening to watching you start to run track in middle school," Richie allows instead.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 396





	let me lead

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sick and not allowed to work on c/mmissions or be on my computer so instead I wrote this self-indulgent mess on my phone. >:)

When Eddie was younger, feeling weird like this usually meant going to his mother and trying to ignore the fuzzy static in his head as she said things about becoming a woman to him. It had meant enduring not only pain and emotion and blood, but also depression and isolation and the feeling of floating through his life. He'd look back and realize he doesn't even remember what he was doing, some days. It just slid past him.

Now, when Eddie feels like this, it doesn't mean any of that. He hasn't seen his mother in years, and he hasn't actually bled in years, either. His body is different, now, the body he _wants_ instead of the body he's forced to have, _his_ body.

But— For all it's _his_ body, he still gets sick. He still occasionally feels the same way he would when he got his period, but it's not the same anymore. There's no blood, no gore, nothing actually physical except symptoms. His chest hurts, even though it's flat, and he has no idea if they're phantom pains or real; his body aches, his muscles ache, his _joints_ ache, and he's only twenty-eight and he's nearly down to a five-minute mile, he's _fine._ Or he _should_ be fine, but then _this_ happens again.

He stares at himself in his bedroom mirror for a long, long time. Richie's at work, so there's nobody to stop him from sitting on the edge of their bed and looking directly into the mirror on the closet wall beside it. He's overemotional and he _knows_ that, he _knows_ that comes with this. It doesn't matter what he _knows,_ though, like this. Just what he feels.

When he'd gotten dressed earlier, he'd tugged on long pants and one of Richie's sweatshirts just because he knew he hadn't wanted to see his own skin, really, but now he does. He shifts to tug off the sweatshirt first, since it's gotten so warm and humid as the day's gone by. When he tosses it aside, it lands near the door with a soft _whump._ He barely notices. Instead, he just keeps looking at himself, at the scars on his chest under hair and the strong planes of muscles. He likes the way he looks on a good day, which are more often than not his normal days, now.

He shucks his pants off in one quick move, throwing them to join Richie's sweatshirt. His fingers itch, for a second, with the need to get up and fold the clothes and put them away, or maybe wash them and do laundry and clean the laundry room while he's in there and—

Eddie catches his own eye in the mirror, mid-spiral. He stares himself down before his eyes flick over his body again. This time, he does what his therapist always tells him to do and focuses on what he likes. The width of his shoulders, the strength of his muscles all over, his thick arms and legs, his defined abs, his stubble, his body hair, all of it, anything, everything—

 _"Fuck,"_ Eddie whispers. He hears their front door open and shut, but he barely registers it. Instead, he stands up and puts his palms flat against his collarbones, his fingers curling up into his throat. He drags his hands down, inhales sharply and feels the skin and hair and scars and thinks to himself, _This is my body, this is a man's body, this is my body and I am a man inside this body—_

"Eds?" Richie asks from their bedroom doorway. Eddie shuts his eyes, for a second. In that beat, he hears Richie stooping to pick up his clothes by the door and toss them in their hamper. "Hey. You okay?"

"Better now than I was," Eddie tells him. When he opens his eyes, Richie's close beside him, waiting but not touching. They make eye contact in the mirror.

"What's wrong?" Richie asks. Eddie shrugs. "Do you really not know, or are you having a hard time saying it?"

"Hard time saying it," Eddie tells him.

"Can I touch you?" Richie asks. Eddie nods, so Richie comes up behind him, prodding him away from the bed a little and draping himself over Eddie. "You're looking mean, jellybean. What's eating you, then? Can I guess?"

Eddie can't stop himself from smiling when he answers, "Fine, you can guess." It's easier this way anyways, and they both know it. Eddie's nearly incapable of verbalizing emotions when he needs to and incapable of stopping his words when he's asked to. The worst of both worlds, in his opinion, which is what he told Richie when he expressed this realization, but Richie had just told him everybody's different and sometimes we need different help and Eddie had cried.

"Is it… the neighbor tunneling into our basement?" Richie asks. Eddie shakes his head. "Alright, good. Well… Is it the man who lives in the walls coming to steal food again?"

"You _know_ the idea of that freaks me out," Eddie snaps without heat, unable to stop grinning.

"Then get along with him and he won't eat you in your sleep," Richie says, and Eddie elbows him in the belly. _"Alright,_ alright, let's see here. Based on the fact that you're almost completely naked I'm gonna say this was body-based."

"Yup," Eddie says. Better than the thumbs-up he used to give in response to that question; at least he can speak now.

"Do you want to—"

"Can you tell me I'm masculine?" Eddie asks. Richie falls quiet, for a beat, his brow furrowing when Eddie's eyes dart up to his in the mirror. "I just— My body's doing the— _Fuck,"_ he spits, when his brain and his throat stop the words. He stops, breathes, and says, "I feel like I used to when I was— When I'd get my period."

"Shit, is that now?" Richie asks. He pulls one arm off of Eddie to dig his phone out of his pocket and thumb it open. He flips through something and says, "I didn't think it'd be for three more da—"

Eddie turns, taking Richie's phone out of his hands. He looks over Richie's Google calendar, a slapdash mess of meetings and events and schedules and appointments and, three days from now, a blue event that says _bring Eddie home dinner._

He feels his eyes tear up, and he forces them shut. Exhaling slowly, he passes Richie back his phone, then digs the heels of his hands into his closed eyes before pushing his forehead into Richie's chest. One of Richie's big hands comes up and rubs at his back, over his shoulder blade and down.

"I'm sorry if I shouldn't have done that," Richie tells him softly. Eddie pulls back sharply, scrubbing at his face with the back of his wrists.

"I'm not _upset,_ Richie," he snaps, which could be misleading but this is Richie he's talking to, and Richie knows his tones and moods inside and out, by now. He knows he's telling the truth, and so he grins down at Eddie as he continues, _"Jesus,_ I didn't know you— You miss _half_ the shit you're supposed to go to for work! You _never_ put stuff in your calendar yourself, you always—"

"Some stuff is too important to forget," Richie interrupts him. Eddie feels his throat get thick again, and Richie must see it in his face, because he hurries to say, "Like when you're going to get all huffy and then want to fuck me li—"

"Right," Eddie interrupts him right back. Richie keeps looking down at him, his face still all furrowed as he processes Eddie's meaning for a second.

Then, though, Richie grins and takes Eddie by the shoulders. He's expecting to get dragged towards their bed, but, instead, Richie turns him around so he's facing the mirror again. He feels less staticky, more grounded in his own skin than he has in a few days, really, so he doesn't mind watching Richie's hands slide down over his chest like he had just been doing to himself.

Richie lifts one hand to toss his phone on the nightstand. When he turns back to Eddie, he presses himself all along his back, his empty hand coming back to join the other, flattened over Eddie's pecs.

"You want me to tell you you're masculine?" Richie asks. "Eds, I am one _hundred_ percent gay. I guarantee you I am completely interested in men and men _exclusively,_ and so I wouldn't be able to do half the shit we do if you weren't masculine as fuck."

"Really?" Eddie asks. Richie's said all this before, many times, but he likes to hear it all the same.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Richie asks, in lieu of an answer. Eddie nods. "I was actually just thinking about this earlier today, so this is good timing. You remember the Paul Bunyan statue back at home?"

"The one on the common?" Eddie asks, confused. In their reflection, Richie's face flushes pink.

"Yeah, that one," Richie said. "I, uhh— So, maybe I had a crush on him when I was, like, _really_ little—"

"You had a crush on the _Paul Bunyan statue?"_ Eddie asks incredulously, already laughing. Richie huffs a laugh, amused but clearly not as amused as Eddie. It sobers Eddie up quick, seeing his face like that. "No, I— I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No, you're right, it's ridiculous," Richie says.

"Kids have ridiculous crushes," Eddie tells him. "I had a crush on Shaggy in _Scooby Doo_ when I was a kid."

Richie makes eye contact with him in the mirror, then raises an eyebrow and motions largely to himself behind Eddie. It takes a second, but then Eddie's laughing and trying to twist around again. Richie stops him, holding him firmly in place by his shoulders.

"Whether or not you have a type, and you do," Richie says, "I'm telling you about the statue so you get just how masculine _you_ are. Eds, a building-sized statue of a lumberjack with the biggest shoulders I have _ever_ seen was my sexual awakening, and I married _you."_

"Don't call Paul Bunyan your sexual awakening," Eddie scolds lightly. Richie kisses behind his ear, nosing into his hair until he gets far enough to kiss Eddie's temple.

"I could always attribute my sexual awakening to watching you start to run track in middle school," Richie allows instead. Eddie laughs again. "I'm serious, though, Eds. I have a type, too. It's aggressive and masculine men, so thank fuck I lived down the street from one."

Eddie reaches up for Richie's hands on his shoulders. He slowly drags them down, so Richie's palms and fingertips drag slow over his heated skin. There's a million things he could say, and some of them aren't particularly kind to himself, so instead he guides Richie's hand down to the waistband on his boxer-briefs and says, "Are you up for taking the str—"

 _"Yes,"_ Richie answers emphatically, turning Eddie around by the hips and kissing him hard. Eddie leans up into him and responds in kind, gripping Richie by the shoulders so he can shove him backwards over their bed. He climbs up over him and straddles his waist in the next beat of their hearts.

"You're sure?" Eddie asks. Richie nods vigorously before Eddie rolls his hips down over Richie's groin through his jeans. He can feel the half-hard line of him through the denim, working his way quickly up to fully hard as Eddie rolls his hips again and ducks his head, framing Richie's face in his hands and holding him still so he can kiss him again.

"Very sure," Richie gasps into his mouth. Eddie smiles, getting back up and off of Richie to sort through the bottom cabinet on his bedside table. He pulls out his harness, a few different dildos, dongs, and vibrators for Richie to choose from, and their lube. Richie sits up on their bed and pokes through his options. "Do _you_ have a preference right now? Because I'm mostly looking to get railed here, so, whatever is most comfortable for doing that, I'm game."

Eddie's eyes skim over the line on their mattress before he selects one of the longer, thicker options, jelly-textured and dark purple and curved up slightly. He hands it over to Richie.

"Okay, yeah," Richie says, slightly choked. "Good option, good choice—"

"Thought so." Eddie takes the rest back and returns them to their spots in the cabinet. When he turns back, he finds Richie evaluating the dildo in his hands, wrapping his fingers around it to remind himself of its width. When he looks up at Eddie and realizes he's been caught, he grins.

Eddie doesn't give him a chance to make a joke before he's over him again, silencing him with a kiss that he deepens instantly. He hears the _thump_ of the dildo hitting the mattress before Richie's hands grab him by the shoulders.

It doesn't take much to manhandle Richie up against the headboard, mostly because Richie goes so willingly until his back is pressed to their pillows. Eddie strips off his socks, then his jeans, biting into the thin skin of Richie's inner thigh as he tugs the denim down. He has to make Richie sit up to strip his shirts off over his head, but by the time they're both in their boxer-briefs, Richie's visibly hard through the fabric.

"C'mon, Eds, I'll do it myself if you want me to," Richie offers. Eddie laughs, pulling Richie's underwear off and tossing it aside with the rest of their clothes.

"I do _not_ want you to," Eddie tells him, and Richie shifts to make a comment back just as Eddie wraps his fingers around his cock. The friction stops the laugh halfway up Richie's throat. "How's that?"

"Fucking _good,_ Eddie, _fuck,"_ Richie bites off. Eddie leans over his lap to kiss him again before withdrawing. Richie tries to follow, but Eddie pushes him back into the pillows with a firm hand flat in the middle of his chest.

Richie takes the hint and lets Eddie lead, lets him uncap the lube and spread Richie's legs apart with his fingers wrapped around Richie's knees. Richie just watches, his chest heaving and his hard cock leaking up onto his belly, as Eddie coats his fingers in lube and reaches down to circle the tight ring of Richie's hole. Richie shifts back down onto his fingers, forces him in a little more than either of them expected. Eddie uses the momentum to slip two fingers in to the first knuckle.

"Shit," Richie curses. Eddie drops his head to kiss over Richie's chest, feels the pounding of his heart as he drags his mouth down to his belly. He bows over him to bite softly at his side as he scissors Richie open slowly, feeling his tight, hot velvet inner walls part under his hands.

Eddie works his way into the second knuckle, then the rest of the way, until he's got two fingers buried so deep inside Richie he finds his prostate. Richie twitches up into him, when Eddie strokes the muscle there; his hands cling to Eddie's shoulders as he gasps his name, and Eddie rarely feels more powerful than this.

He slips his fingers out of Richie and coats them up again, revelling in the bereft noises Richie is making weakly at the sudden withdrawal. There's a lot on his fingers, more than usual, but he uses it to slick his way into Richie with three fingers, this time. Richie inhales sharply at the sensation, trying to push up into Eddie and down onto him at the same time. Eddie takes pity on him, fitting himself in Richie's lap and kissing him again. His hard cock rubs up against the material of Eddie's underwear, over his own clit, and he makes a soft sound before licking into Richie's mouth, kissing him hard and deep enough that they have to break away quickly or pass out without oxygen.

When Eddie looks down to Richie's hole, slipping his fingers out slowly, he can tell he's ready enough for the strap. He pulls his fingers the rest of the way out and gets up off the bed. Richie makes a soft whining sound, reaching a hand out for Eddie.

"Give me two minutes," Eddie tells him. Richie watches him from behind his thick glasses, all bright blue eyes as Eddie tugs his boxer-briefs off and pulls on his harness and the strap-on. He buckles the sides and tightens the straps around his hips and thighs and under his ass before adjusting the dildo itself. When he looks back up to Richie, his eyes are barely blue anymore; his pupils have blown so wide with lust that his irises look nearly completely black, now, just a thin ring of blue on the outside.

"Eds," Richie manages, choked. Eddie climbs up over his lap again and switches on the inside piece of the strap. The small hum of the vibration fills the space between them, and Eddie sighs, feeling the tight warmth starting to build in the base of his groin at the sensation. "Holy _fuck,_ Eddie—"

"Hold on," Eddie murmurs. He realizes he'd closed his eyes at the thrumming low-level pleasure of the dildo, so he forces them back open to locate the lube again. He slicks the dildo up until it's slippery under his hands, until he's _sure_ it'll have an easy slide inside Richie. It isn't until then that he grabs a tissue off their beside table and wipes off the excess lube from his fingers.

"Please," Richie says, desperate and breathless. Eddie looks up from Richie's hole to meet his eyes, and he's impossibly wet and turned on just by the look of him, flushed and hard and struggling to catch his breath just from Eddie working him open and sitting between his legs like this. "Eds, man, c'mon, I'll beg if I have to—"

"Next time," Eddie says, before working Richie's legs further apart. He takes one of his legs and pulls it up over one shoulder, but Richie's so much bigger and longer than him, he can only hold onto one. He uses his improved leverage and angle to line the head of the dildo up with Richie's loose entrance and start to push in.

It feels good, the way the dildo rubs against his own clit and his wet hole to push him closer towards climax, but it feels even better to watch Richie come apart under him. Richie can't stop whimpering his name, just softly letting out a string of, "Eddie, Eds, please, Eds, _please—"_ until Eddie stops halfway in.

"Hold still," Eddie tells him. Richie exhales shakily, pushing his glasses up into his hair to press the heels of his hands into his eyes. Eddie reaches up, pulling his hands down with his fingers around Richie's wrists. "Look at me."

Richie looks, barely seeing. Eddie reaches out again to pull his glasses back into place and smooth his sweaty hair out of his eyes, but Richie's still unfocused and blissed out, chest heaving as he shifts to let his body adjust to the dildo while he has a break from the slow, steady push in. Eddie kisses him, softly at first, then harder, licking into his mouth until their tongues slide together. It's only then that he grabs Richie's hip in one hand and holds his leg up in the other and pushes the rest of the way in.

The feeling of bottoming out in Richie is wonderfully compounded by the vibrating base to push hard into Eddie's clit, and he moans into Richie's mouth just as Richie cries out into his.

Eddie pulls back, huffing a laugh as Richie begs him, "Eds, Eddie, please, please fuck me—"

"Shh," Eddie shushes him, and Richie's jaw snaps shut as he whimpers again, trying to push down harder onto Eddie's strap. Eddie tightens his grip to keep him still. Richie whines, reaching up to thread his hands through the short curls at the back of Eddie's head, tugging him down for another kiss. The sharp pull on his scalp makes Eddie's hips twitch forwards; Richie moans again, breaking their kiss.

"Mo— _Motherfucker—"_ Richie gasps, before his eyes slam shut. Eddie chases that expression, that _sensation,_ and feels more grounded in his body than he has in _weeks_ when he pulls out and thrusts in _hard,_ finding a steady rhythm to fuck into Richie with.

Richie's hands scrabble at him again, across his back and up to his shoulders. Eddie lets Richie tug him in and kiss him, open-mouthed, messy and desperate, moaning with lust as his hips jerk up and press his dripping cock into the strong, hard planes of Eddie's abdomen. Eddie pulls his hand off Richie's hip to wrap around his cock instead.

Fucking into Richie this hard, this fast, this _deep_ pushed the vibrator _hard_ against Eddie's clit on each thrust in, and between that and the way Richie's starting to cry under him, tears leaking out of his eyes as he tries to get Eddie closer, somehow, even though they're all but glued together, now— It's a lot, nearly too much before it _is._ Eddie's first climax comes up quick, cresting over him in a wave before he feels like he's filled with heat.

Eddie's hips still, briefly, his forehead dropping forward to press into Richie's shoulder as he breathes raggedly through the swell of his orgasm. Richie strokes his sweaty hair, down the knobs of his spine along his slick back, trying to keep still until Eddie's calmed down again. The way they're collapsed inward together is pushing Richie's throbbing cock up into Eddie's belly and chest, though, and it's impossible to ignore, and Eddie doesn't want to.

He's overstimulated, now, and the vibrations are too much, so he switches off that part of the strap before pushing back into Richie again. He's sensitive, but Richie's on the edge, so he needs to draw him back if he wants another orgasm before they're done. He pushes Richie back and rolls his hips slowly, this time, trying to fuck into him as deep as he can as deliberately as he can, unhurried. His goal is Richie's prostate, and he knows when he's found it because Richie does what he always does.

"Fuck, I love you so much," Richie says, all in a rush. Eddie steadies himself with a hand on Richie's shoulder and another wrapped around his thigh, his nails breaking marks into his skin as he keeps his position and his rhythm. The harder Eddie fucks into his prostate and the closer Richie gets to orgasm, the more Richie continuously confesses his love to Eddie. "I love you so much, fuck, _fuck,_ Eddie, please, I—"

"You can cum now if you want to," Eddie says, and so Richie does, yanking Eddie down into a hard kiss as Eddie jerks him off hard and fast. His cum splatters across both of their chests and underneath their chins; Richie huffs a weak laugh before lifting his head to lick under the sharp line of Eddie's jaw. Eddie groans, murmurs, "That's _disgusting,_ Richie," but he tips his head back to expose his neck and allow him better access.

Richie sits up more fully, tucking his face into Eddie's throat, the dildo still seated deep inside him. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around the base of it before he twists the vibrations back on. He pushes it back into Eddie's clit, using that and his fingers to work him back up to the edge quickly, the heat tightening inside him from how overstimulated he already is.

"Fuck, Richie, _harder,"_ Eddie tells him, so Richie bites into his throat and pushes his hips up, tugging Eddie down into his lap hard and slipping two of his fingers past the strap to make his way down to Eddie's entrance. He's so wet he's slick, and Richie's fingers part his folds to slip in easy. He pushes the heel of his hand into Eddie's clit, gives him a good spot to grind up against and into. It's not long before Eddie's gasping for air and dragging Richie's face away from his ministrations on Eddie's throat.

"Kiss me," Eddie orders him, desperate, and Richie does, all sweaty and flushed and fucked-out, his glasses smeared and crooked, his curly black hair spilling all over the pillows behind him when he tugs Eddie tighter against him. As they kiss, Richie curves his fingers inside of Eddie, pushes the heel of his hand harder, faster, fucking into and against him until Eddie's clinging to him and coming for the second time.

As Eddie calms down, Richie flips off the vibrator and collapses backwards completely into their pillows. He scrubs at his face with his hands, leaving glistening trails of Eddie's wetness across his cheekbones and his forehead. Eddie huffs a laugh before grabbing another tissue to wipe off his face.

"Give me two seconds," Eddie says. "Brace yourself."

 _"Nooo,"_ Richie whines, but if Eddie listened to him, he'd never be allowed to pull out. Instead, Eddie's in charge, and he does pull out and unbuckle himself from the harness and the strap. He cleans it all up and wipes it all down and packs it away again before returning his attention to Richie.

Richie's barely moved, just watching Eddie as he works, his chest still heaving as he slowly catches his breath and reorients himself. Eddie scrubs him down with baby wipes before wrapping himself around Richie from behind, burying his face squarely in the center of Richie's broad back.

"How you doing?" Richie asks blearily. Eddie's fingertips have been drawing lazy circles for a couple of moments in the hollow below Richie's throat. At the sound of his voice, his hand stills, briefly, before sliding down over the soft flesh and coarse hair of his chest, tracing tiny patterns there, too.

"Much better," he says. Richie hums a little, sighing, contented. Eddie leans up over him to pull his glasses off. "You're allowed to sleep for _thirty minutes_ before you make us dinner."

 _"Bossy,"_ Richie mumbles, but he's already mostly asleep anyways and he makes dinner _every_ night. Eddie hasn't been allowed near the stove since the week they moved in together.

Richie falls asleep easy, content and fucked-out enough to just drop off. Eddie stays awake, though, and looks up over Richie's shoulder to see the two of them in the mirror beside the bed again.

This time, he doesn't feel weird, looking at them. His body doesn't feel like a mismatched puzzle or a sum of failing parts or a complete staticky mess, because it feels like _his_ again. Looking at them, they look like Richie and Eddie, husbands spooned up in bed together, and not really anything else.

"I love you," Eddie says softly. Richie mumbles something incoherent that may have been a response and may have just been sleep-talk, but Eddie smiles all the same and drops back down, cutting off his line of sight to the mirror in favor of burying his face in Richie's back again.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed me projecting my gender issues viciously onto Eddie! Have a nice day!
> 
> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](https://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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